Ad eorum memoriam quos valde amo
by Masakali
Summary: ...In memory of those I love. Inspired by The Haunting of B.DavisRules. Every 19th May of every year after Anne's death she visits him, to remind him of what he executed and give him a piece of her mind.
1. 19th May, 1537

**Hey all! This is my first The Tudors fanfiction, and I hope you will like it! It strongly inspired by 'The Haunting', by , because I loved that one. Read it if you haven't yet! As Anne died 19th May 1536, I wanted Anne to visit Henry every year after on that date till Henry dies. So this is the first of 10 chapters, though I am considering to add one for Anne _and_ Henry to visit Elizabeth together. Let me know what you thought of it!**

19 May 1537:

'Your Majesty.'

An oh so familiar, alluring voice intruded His Majesty King Henry VIII's thoughts, on a rather rainy 19th May. The king of England had been going over the preparations Cromwell had made for the birth of the future King of England, but had somehow not been able to concentrate.

'Who is that?'

'Oh, your _Majesty,' _and for a second he swore he heard a treasonous mocking in the voice,' have you forgotten me already?'

'I demand you make yourself known, madam.'

'Ah. 10 years of courting, 3 years of marriage…and one year without me and he seems to have forgotten me. I suppose such is the love of a great king.'

'Anne…' The identification of the voice by the king was barely a whisper, yet his frantic searching for her implicated more. His eyes darted from corner to corner, till he was suddenly met by an image of the past. Henry and Anne various years ago, her sitting on the very same desk he had been working on a few minutes ago in the present, him kissing her thighs, holding her dress up with both of his hands. Anne was smiling at him, both in ecstasy and love.

'You loved me so, back then.'

Anne's ghost appeared next to the moving memory, looking at it tenderly.

'Go away shade.'

Henry's voice was brusque and cold, contradicting his earlier frantic searching for her.

'You do not know what day it is, do you now, Henry? '

'I shall not talk to the dead, and especially not treasonous ones.'

'Oh I see. Well, in that case you will have more time to listen. God knows you rarely did so once you had me. You see, your Majesty, today I celebrate the day of my death. Or, rather, my murder. A murder committed by none other than my own Lord Husband. And though poets say there is no better way to die than to die by the hands of the one you love, I say it is the worst. But, the pain his hate gives is bigger than any sword. It really is, my lord.'

The moving memory faded away, leaving Anne only in his office. She moved towards him, and though he desperately tried to keep his gaze on document he pretended to be reading, he was still amazed by the elegance in her every step. Suddenly he recognized her dress. It was the yellow dress, the golden dress she had worn when she had believed to be with child again and Katherine had died.

'Why are you wearing that dress? I don't believe _that_ is what you were wearing when you were punished for your sins.'

'I am wearing this for the same reason I wore it when Katherine died.'

Henry's eyes shot up now, looking her in the eyes directly.

'What are you saying? Am I to die?'

Anne took place on the desk, on the same spot the younger version of her had sat all those years ago.

'Contrary to _others_; I would mourn your death, my love. Even though _you_ caused mine. Do not worry, you are not to die. '

'So who is?'

'The one person you forsake me for.'

'Jane? Jane is not to die! Jane is doing what you FAILED to do! Jane has God's mercy and love, she is not to die.'

'Oh but she is. And yes, she will be giving you your _precious _son, but she will die only a few days after.'

'You are a lying. You, madam, are treasonous lying _whore_ who failed to give me an heir because GOD has known you will only poison England. So now I tell you for once and all: GO. LEAVE!'

'Again you forsake my love and goodwill. But alas. I shall take my leave now, my cruel love. But I will be back, Henry. This day, next year, we shall be united again. And then you shall see the truth in my words and my love. All I beg from you is one thing: spare our daughter. She had goodness, and goodness only in her. She is only 4 years old, but the perfect result of our love. Of us. She is only a child, Henry, but what a beautiful one! Spare Elizabeth; don't punish her for the sins you _think_ I committed. She is your daughter too.'

And with those words, Anne Boleyn was once again gone out of the life of the King of England, only now with the promise of returning.

**Review, pretty please?**


	2. 19th May, 1538

**So lovely to see positive reviews! Here is the next year, 1538. In a timeline I found out that was the year of the publication of the first bible in England. However, I don't know precisely if that was before or after 19th May, so you will be warned. WARNING: mature rating to be certain! Review pretty please?**

19th May 1538.

´Your Majesty.´

Anne Boleyn´s neutral voice intruded the silence Henry had grown used to ever since Jane´s death. Initially it had been him who longed for silence, tranquility and sadness in court, not wanting, not tolerating any expression of happiness and joy. Yes, he had his son now, his heir. Jane had given him everything he longed for ever since he had been king, but she herself was no more.

´I have seen you being sad and I cannot stand it anymore.'

'What am I and my feelings to you? You are died, remember? Deprived of emotions or feelings.'

He looked up from his bible to look up to her. She was not in the yellow dress again, but now in the dress she had worn at the play of the virtues, many, many years ago. _Perseverance. _Lady Perseverance she was and perseverance was what she had prayed. And to what consequence, he realized. 10 years of courting, insane and desperate love, only to be wed to a son-obsessed philanderer. And when she couldn't give him a son, he had cast her off. And how!

'I have been thinking, Anne.'

Her eyes darted up to him, filled with pleasance and joy as she heard not disdain or hate, but neutrality with a drop of desire to discuss and talk. He was still dressed in black, but now suited as a king, not a mourning commoner. His hair was combed, his face not greasy.

'I have wronged you.'

'I agree.'

Again, there was sarcasm or mocking in her voice. Unlike their first meeting after her death, both were not mocking, or verbally attacking one another.

'I shall never say so in public, for I am king, but I have not been the husband I should have been. I have seen Elizabeth. Our Elizabeth. And you were right; she is a beautiful child, and so smart! She loves to learn, but also to dance, and even in that, in this fragile age, she excels. She _is_ the perfect result of our love and a perfect combination of us. But in that lies her fall. She is like you. Not only mentally, but physically. Her eyes, the way she moves…it is you. You, reminding me of my own foolishness and stubbornness. Of my faults.'

'You speak so loving of her, yet to have only seen her once. And that only when you went to see your _son_. You already deprived her of her mother, why deprive her of a father too?'

Anne sat down at the chair opposite him.

'Is Jane with you?'

Anne lowered her eyes, and while avoiding his gaze, noticed the bible.

'I met her once, yes. I am glad you have not forsaken the true faith after I…was no more. Having the bible in English will introduce the true message of God to more people. You did well.'

'Do you have any prediction for this year?'

'No, I have not. But you don't need any, my love. Lead with a conscience, forgive but do not forget.'

A smile appeared on Henry's face.

'Abandoning me already?'

She smirked to, surprised.

'I thought you had grown tired of me.'

Both smiled now, surprising themselves.

'I have been lonely for a long time now. Indeed, because of my own hand, but lonely nevertheless. They are afraid of me. They are too afraid of me.'

'You _have _ been…unpleasant company lately.'

'You gained tact you never had when you were alive.'

'Would you prefer to have my candor?'

'I prefer Anne Boleyn to be Anne Boleyn.'

Anne laughed now, and as he looked at her in admiration, he took her hand and planted a kiss on it. This made her stop laughing, and she searched for his eyes her own filled with a past desire.

'I had never expected I would be able to touch you.'

'Once a year, on this day only I turn visible and solid. I must say it is a relief to be able to touch things, to feel things.'

He kept his lips on her hand as his eyes met hers, and kissed the skin a bit above when he saw the intense desire in her eyes.

'Henry…'

His lips continued their way up, till his lips met her shoulder. She looked aside to face him and after a few seconds of merely drowning in each other's eyes, Henry planted his lips on hers. The kiss was immediately passionately, and Henry rose up from his chair to be closer to Anne. She stood up too, and frantically kissing they moved towards the closest wall. Anne moaned when her back hit the wall, but her lips were soon enough captured again by Henry's, whose hands had made way to her corset. Anne's hands moved to Henry's now long hair, and tangled her fingers in his locks, moving his head from her face to her breasts. Soon enough he made her moan loudly, bucking her hips towards his. His hands lifted her skirts and just when he grasped her thighs, she stopped him by holding her hands on his.

'We can't.'

Her voice was raw, filled with lust and regret, was insisting. He let go of her, regret clear on his face. He stepped back, but she took his hand again and pulled his closer, embracing him. After a minute of simply standing there, he too put his arms around her waist and pulled her closest possible.

'I am so sorry, Henry.'

'Don't apologize, my love. I led my loneliness get to you.'

She pulled herself away from him, walking away with quick passes while tightening her corset again. When she was at a distance safe enough, she turned around to face him.

'Is _THAT_ all this was! Your _LONELINESS_! After _all_ this time…and you …this…_YOUR LONELINESS_!'

She cupped her face in frustration first, then slid them through her hair, while biting on her lip and blinking back her tears.

'Anne, come on. Anne…'

He walked fast towards her, but she kept him on a distant with her hands.

'Is…_WAS_ everything like this? _Your_ loneliness. _Your _lack of a son. _Your __**boring**_marriage. _Your _passion for something you could not get immediately and needed to be chased!'

'No. No! Of course not! But you knew! You knew I was chasing you! _You _were playing on it! You _made _me kill Moore! You made me _leave_ Katherine and _forsake_ my daughter with royal Spanish _and_ English blood! I risked war for you, I _fucking_ changed England's religion for _YOU!'_

Anne paled as her eyes grew big and tightened her jaw, resting her hands on her hips.

'I see. Fine, _your majesty_. I shall take my leave now.'

And like that, with a single tear escaping her left eye, she was away in a blink. Henry paled as he understood what he had said and reached his hand out to where she had just been.

'Anne. Anne! _ANNE!'_


	3. 19th May, 1539

**Here is chapter three, my longest chapter so far, I believe? Oh well. I wanted the story to more or less go along with the depiction of Henry's life in The Tudors, only now letting Anne be his motivation behind several actions and feelings. I hope you enjoy reading, and review, pretty please?**

19th May 1539.

´Your Majesty.´

The curtsy was cold and gruff, just like the look on her face.

´Anne.´

Henry looked up immediately, hope written on his face, relief clear in his voice. He had chosen his best clothes for today, of the best material and the best maker. He had soaked himself in the best perfumes and already ordered the best meal. The hope in the eyes of court had not escaped his attention, neither did the extra amount of pleasing of fathers with daughters of marriageable age.

'Do you like to know what I am wearing today?'

He looked at her closely, from head to toe. She was wearing a dress in the shades of blue and grey, giving her a rather sober look. Her hair was covered in a white cap. Her only jewel was the trademark 'B'-necklace, her Boleyn inheritance.

'This is how I looked when you got me executed. By a French swordsman, because that was his Majesty showing his mercy.'

His eyes went over her body again, now with new-found guilt.

'Anne, I am so-'

'And this is me, in the Tower you so 'graciously' put me in.'

A moving memory now appeared next to her. It was her, in the Tower. She was standing in front of a window, in the same dress but without the cap. She was crying loudly, and groaned every time she looked outside. When he moved his head to see what was outside that disturbed her so much, he screamed out of horror.

'_That_ was my brother. The only person I could trust in the end. The only one who I showed my tears to, tears I shed because my husband pained me. The brother I played hide and seek with in my youth, with whom I played pranks on Mary, because she was so naïve. How could you even dare believe I did such an abominable thing with him?'

George Boleyn was finally tight enough in the scaffold, and the executioner took his weapon.

'He may have had many faults, but he was a good brother. But of course, how would you understand that, your Majesty?'

Henry kept his eyes low, refusing to see his former brother-in-law die in front of his eyes. He heard the audience cheer and then looked up to a headless George Boleyn and an agonizing Anne.

'And next came Mark Smeaton, such a musical talent. Oh, and Henry Norris, whose only interest was for Madge. What was the fault those people, your Majesty? Did they have to _die_ just so you could have your son? Is that what you will tell Jane's son?'

'No, no, of course not. Anne, I beg you, forgive me. I can't undo things, but I can't bear your hate anymore. Forgive me.'

'It is so easy to beg for forgiveness when you are _alive_.'

'For my sake. For Elizabeth's sake.'

Her eyes darted up as she sat down opposite him on the bed. He reached for her hand, but she pulled back. He narrowed his eyes, but tried again nevertheless, succeeding this time.

'I love you. So much it drives me crazy at times. My love for you was, and is, so intense it sways between intense love and intense hate. It was hate, anger that drove me to…let Elizabeth lose her mother. It is not a good reason, but perhaps an insight that will help us put this behind us?'

She looked up at him, letting her cold demeanor melt somewhat.

'My father died in March.'

'I am sorry to hear so.'

'If it had not been for him, I would have never gotten your attention.'

'So I shall be forever grateful for him.'

'If it had not been for him, I would still have my head.'

She smirked, amused by the irony of the bitter truth. Her father had reached for the crown, and it had been the crown that had meant the end for his son and daughter.

'Can I ask you something?'

'You can.'

She lay down on the bed, on one side, with her face up, and he followed her example, only keeping his eyes on her.

'How big was your father's role in our courting and our life?'

'Very big, Henry.'

She smirked again, but this was a one with the hint of sadness.

'Elaborate.'

He moved closer to the middle of the bed, then stretched his arm to get her in his embrace. She looked at him for a moment, with her eyebrows arched, but succumbed when he nodded slightly again.

'He made you notice me. He read the letters you wrote me, and instructed me when I replied. He told me I should be pleasing that day, brusque another. _Wear this dress, today, Anne, so he will not be able to keep his eyes off you._ I used to hate it after a while, when I started to develop real feelings for you. I realized how much of a pawn I was, and hated myself for being such a fool to love you. Because I knew, once I would give you my heart, I would be vulnerable. Depending on your love, your favour. You see,' she said, turning so she could face him,' I was 7 when I realized I would never be a good lover. I had a doll, whom I called Marieke. I lived in Holland then, and Marieke was the name of the daughter of our gouverness. Marieke the baby was too small, and because I adored her my gouverness made me doll that looked just like her daughter. I took my doll Marieke everywhere, involved her in every activity, took her to bed with me every night. Whenever Mary wanted to play with her, we would get in a fight, but I would always win with George's help. But then, one night, papa woke us up. He said we had to leave the Netherlands, because the Spanish reached our city. I wanted to take Marieke with me, but papa refused. I threw tantrums, I yelled, I kicked. Everything to keep the one thing I loved most with me. In the end he slapped me in a way he never did before, so hard I could barely breathe out of shock. He picked me up and we left. That time I understood I would be an awful lover. I am too jealous, Henry. Too possessive. I do not love quickly: but when I love, I love utterly and completely. I want to own the object of my affection, I want it, or him, to be completely devoted to me too. I knew that, and I kept it in mind for the rest of my youth. And I promised myself not to love. And then I met you.'

A sad smile appeared on her face and she looked down.

'You are a king. And perhaps I should have known better. But was it not that very same king that waited ten years to marry me, Henry?'

She looked at him again, hope written in her eyes. He brought their intertwined fingers to his lips and kissed hers. A tender smile appeared on her face.

'I…it was. But it was that same man that needed an heir.'

Anne's jaw tightened.

'You had your heir. Elizabeth. And for God's sake, even Catherine's daughter was an heir.'

'I needed a son, Anne. And you can get angry again, but you know that too.'

Anne sat up and Henry sighed and sat up too.

'You have your precious _son_ now. Will you wait for me now?'

Henry's eyes grew big.

'What do you mean?'

'Will you remain unmarried for the rest of your life, Henry? Will you wait till we are together for eternity?'

'Anne…come on. That is unreasonable. I am king, I must marry, I- '

'Don't bother, _your Majesty_, I know enough. You wanted me, you chased me, you _had_ me and now you are satisfied. Or not? Huh?'

'No! No, come on Anne! I love you!'

'More than Catherine? More than Jane?'

'I…'

'Well, your Majesty?'

'Yes! Yes! I love you more than them!'

'Then stay _faithful _to me! To _me!_ Your sweetheart! Your own love! Promise me!'

Henry closed his eyes in despair and stood up from the bed, holding his head out of indecision.

'You can't, can you? I love you so, but you… fine, Henry! Go! Go to your harlots, go to all those who shall never love you as much as I do! Go, marry some harlot. Go have more sons and forsake our Elizabeth even more! My poor daughter who has a father of nothing!'

'Anne! Don't make me say foolish things again!'

'Or _what, your Majesty_? You already broke my heart, cut off my head…what is left of me?'

He moved closer to her, to catch her in an embrace, but she fled.

'I will take my leave now, _your Majesty_. It is obvious my company alone won't suffice.'

'Anne, if you leave now, I will marry! Anne…no, Anne! _Anne!_'

And once again, Anne left Henry with both of them furious at one another. Both had a broken heart and refused to understand each other's point. A few months later Henry agreed to remarry, and not just some girl, but an _Anne_. Anne of Cleves.

**AN: Henry agreed to marry Anne of Cleves somewhere in July 1539, I believe, so hence the fight. And Anne Boleyn is believed to have spent some part of her youth in the Netherlands, I just don't know her precise age. Or anyone for that matter as Anne's birthdate is unknown.**


	4. 19th May, 1540

**Thank you for the lovely words! You guys really made my (rather dull) day! So I am not really liking this chapter, and I think I will rewrite it later. Henry VIII married Anne of Cleves in January or so, so he was married to Anne of Cleves at the time of this chapter. Enjoy reading and please review! **

19th May, 1540.

'Your Majesty.'

His Royal Majesty King Henry VIII opened his eyes, startled by the alluring voice he had not heard for 365 days. He tried looking for her, but was stopped by his paining ulcer. He looked down at his clothes and suddenly felt ashamed of the way he looked in front of Anne. Anne, the woman who he had met and loved at the peak of his life. He had been young, strong, lean and fit. And now there he was, sick, sweaty and in his nightgown. Though he hated to admit it; he was getting old.

'I hope your Majesty is satisfied now? Happy? You _are_ married after all. And to an Anne, no less! I suppose you must be happier than ever? A son, a wife…a perfect life, _ce n'est pas?_'

Henry searched her with his eyes, but was not able to see her. He tried to sit up, but realized, moaning, that that wasn't an option.

'Anne…'  
>'It seems to me that name is lying on your lips rather often now, <em>non<em>?'

Anne came forward, and for a moment he just stared at her, drinking her beauty. She was wearing a rather simple dress, not as royal of exuberant as the dresses she wore when she was queen. It was grey with some shades of ochre, with a white blouse under it. Unlike the dresses he had seen her wearing, she had no cleavage at all. Her tresses fell loosely over her shoulder, intensifying her dark eyes.

'I have never seen you wear that.'

Anne made a mixture between a smile and a pout, but didn't look at Henry and played with the pearls of her Boleyn-necklace instead.

'I wore this dress before I even met you. Though it hard to believe there was such a time, looking back at my life. I wore this dress when my father came in one day, jubilant, because the King of England was coming to Calais and Mary and I would have the opportunity to meet him. Ha, we even toasted on 'our futures'! If only I had known.'

She looked up at him, knowing he would not be able to look at her after that implication. With a solemn smile she sat down next to Henry's leg, lovingly changing his bandage.

'Do you remember how you got this ulcer?'

Henry looked annoyed, not wanting to think about the time he was not as weak and immobile as now.

'Jousting, Anne. You were still alive then.'

'I was. But I was pregnant with our son, Henry. So I was obliged to stay inside. And you were outside, jousting with _Jane's favour_.'

'Do you really think I fell because I was wearing Jane's favour?'

'Do you really think I would have miscarried our son if you did not fall?'

Anne covered Henry's leg again and sat more comfortably opposite him. Again, he tried to sit up, but Anne shook her head slightly, smirking, to tell him it was of no use.

'Is he with you? Our son?'

Anne closed her eyes and smiled sadly, quickly wiping away a tear that escaped her eye corner.

'No, he is not. His soul was too pure. When children die, they do not go to the same place adults go. They stay in God's Bosom. Katherine told me so.'

'Katherine? Katherine, my wife?'

'_Ex_-wife. Yes. I found her to be rather pleasant company; once of course, we got over our initial fight about you. But she is happy now. But that was not the point. The point was your ulcer. An ulcer you would not have had if you had not worn Jane's favour.'

'It was Jane's favour that saved me.'

Anne barked cynically.

'Is that why _I_ am the one visiting you every year?'

'I thought that was vengeance?'

Anne laughed out loud now, so hard Henry wondered why the guards had not yet barged in. Her cheeks coloured red, and she barely controlled herself.

'Oh Henry! Were it vengeance, it would not be the only visiting you. Think of Katherine, Moore, Wolsey!'

She laughed again, but then suddenly stopped.

'How about Edmund Dudley?'

'Who?'

She smirked.

'You don't remember him, do you?'

He shook his head.

'You executed him for treason. But the man himself does not matter for now. The painful part is that Edmund's grandson, Robert Dudley, will be the love of our Elizabeth's life. And partially because of the shame, partially because of her observations of the marriages around her, she will become scared of love. She loves him so, and yet she won't commit. You must fix that, Henry. This is a question of our daughter's life.'

'How do you expect me to do that?'

'Tell her the truth. Tell her how wonderful love can be. _Show _her, how wonderful love can be.'

'You are talking as if it must be done now. Am I to die?'

Anne rolled her eyes, annoyed.

'This is not _about _you, Henry! This is about my daughter! Why can't you just accept that are too old to be so egocentric!'

'Anne! Do not call me old!'

'Well, I am only telling the truth! Your youth was spent with Katherine, your golden years with me, then you had Jane for one year and now you are old! You are old, and sickly and weak, Henry. So do not waste your time in _deluding_ yourself, but go do something productive for your children! Regardless of their mother! Get Mary a husband! God knows she has been of marriageable age for the longest time! Spend some time with Elizabeth, so she too will know what the love of a parent is like! Be a _father_ to Edward, instead of suffocating him with education!'

'Oh, so now you suddenly _care_ for my other children! Where was your care when Mary was Elizabeth's maid? Where was your care when you wore _yellow_ when you announced Jane's death! You do not _get_ to _care_, Anne. You are not like that and we both know it!'

Both were spewing fire with their eyes and words now.

'Or _maybe YOU HAVE NEVER SEEN THAT SIDE OF ME BECAUSE I WAS NOT ABLE TO TRUST YOU WITH THAT SIDE!'_

Anne's angry, accusing voice was now soaked in emotion, but she chose to refrain herself from showing more.

'Till 19th May, 1541, Your Majesty.'

And with barely a flash Anne was gone again. During the rest of 1540, Henry separated from the second Anne in his life and married Anne Boleyn's frivolous distant niece, Kitty Howard. The lovely thing was only 19, a good 30 years younger than himself, but to him it was the proof of his remaining youth.

**About the current fighting between Anne and Henry: I wanted their fighting to be the reason behind his choice of women, and he used the Anne of Cleves and Kitty Howard as 'proof' to Anne Boleyn in this story. They will reconcile in either the next chapter or the one after that. And about Anne's sudden care about Henry's other children: I just love Catalina and Mary too much to see them sad or as the enemy! And yes, I do not like (dare I say hate?) Jane, but standing up for Edward was more for the sake of criticizing Henry. But as I said: I don't really like this chapter!**


	5. 19th may 1541

**A new chapter! Not entirely happy about this chapter either...though it might just be because I am looking forward to the next years! Anyhow. Henry divorced Anne of Cleves, married Kitty Howard. Read and review, please?**

**19th May, 1541.**

´Your Majesty.´

Henry looked up from the book he was reading, coincidentally the very same book she had given him before they went to Calais. Despite the rather…upsetting way they had parted way previous year, he had anxiously waited to see her again. She was in her underdress only, a white tight dress. Her black hair was shining beautifully and hanging loose, emphasizing her dark eyes.

´It seems to me you desperately wanted to marry women related to me somehow another after my dead. I have thought about it. Jane, who was the complete opposite of me, which was the best remedy to forget about me. Or so it seemed. Then Anne of Cleves. My, I feel sorry for the girl. She was of such virtue and kindness, but alas, you now call her ´my dear _sister´_. Though, with your history with Anne´s, I am happy she still has her head and only got an annulment!´

Henry rolled his eyes, but hope sprang in those very same eyes when Anne sat down next him on the bed that was once theirs.

´And Kitty?'

Anne laughed whole-heartedly.

'Never in my life would I have thought a 'Kitty' would be Queen!'

Henry bit on his lip to prevent himself from laughing along, and decided to find distraction in admiring the woman next to him. Suddenly he regretted burning every portrait he ever had of her. Indeed, he still saw her once a year, but it was not enough. He needed her smirk, her raised eyebrows, her loving look. And not only him, when he realized when he thought about it. What about Elizabeth! Did she even remember her mother´s face? He was almost sure the last time Elizabeth had seen her mother was when Anne had carried Elizabeth on her hip, begging him for one last chance. With a shudder he shook the memory off.

'Katherine is my niece. She has that same allure in her as I did. Her only fault is she is too young, and therefore too innocent.'

'Anne, I can assure you she anything _but_ innocent.'

Anne rolled her eyes, shuddering as she unwillingly thought of what he meant.

'It always is a shame, Henry, when you let _that_ part of you overrule the rest of yourself. Think further than…_that part of your relationship_, and you will find yourself agreeing with me.'

His unimpressed look made her roll her eyes again.

'I saw the execution of the once beloved Thomas Cromwell, by the by.'

Henry cringed only a little bit at the name Cromwell.

'It must have made you happy as _he _was the one behind your death?'  
>'<em>Was he, <em>_**Henry**__?_'

Henry looked away, and as Anne grew convinced of Henry's unwillingness to talk, she moved to another topic.

'I talked to Katherine.'

'I really do not like the two of you being friends.'

'Yes, well. There is not much more you can do about it, is there? But we talked about Mary, and we agreed about something: Mary must wed.'

Henry sat up, and sighed contently when he finally did not experience pain by his ulcer.

'I agree…'

'No, you don't. You think the people of England will see Mary's children as more legitimate heirs to the thrown and therefore overthrow Edward. But have you not noticed her unhappiness, Henry? And then my foolish niece's words! Mary cried so much at her words, Henry. She deserves to be happy. Especially after what we have done to her.'

'Do you have any suggestions? Or Katherine, for that matter.'

Anne smiled, and perplexed Henry.

'Unbeknownst to you, Mary fell in love with someone.'

'Who? Not a fool I hope?'

'Why do you think so low of your own daughter? No, he is royal. Remember your short marriage to my namesake? She had a cousin, Philip of Bavaria. He adored Mary, and she fell in love with him.'

Henry raised his eyebrows.

'Bavaria? How come I never noticed?'

'Your daughter has excelled in hiding her emotions during the time she was a maid to our daughter. But he would light up her life again.'

'And what about Edward?´

´What about him?'

'He _is_ the true heir of England.'

'Then what _is it _what you fear, my love?'

Henry looked down, not quite knowing why he was so reluctant to Mary marrying either. He faked his ignorance at her restrained attitude, in the way she communicated as well the way she held herself. Always the sober colors, robes that implied royalty, yet lacked the splendour. Time preferred to be spent praying or reading, instead of dancing and enjoying. He remembered his daughter dancing with the emperor when they were betrothed, with so much vivacity and playfulness. The corners of his lips curled when he thought of his pearl pushing the dauphin of France, with so much fire and pride in her. What had happened to that girl, to change her in the meek corpse, full of curtseys?

'It has been a year since the duke left.'  
>'So summon him. You <em>are, <em>after all…' Anne smirked,' _The king of England?'_

Henry smiled, remembering his outrage many, many years back when he had been desperate and his royal status had not sufficed to give him what he wanted then.

'I will.'  
>'I trust you will. And so does Katherine.'<p>

Henry patted on the place next to him, and Anne lay down in his embrace. He inhaled the scent of her hair, relished the softness of her skin.

'Why does Katherine never come?'  
>'Would you like her to?'<br>'After all the horror I caused her?'  
>'At least you did not have her head.'<br>'Would you have preferred living to see me married to Jane?'

Anne looked up to meet his questioning eyes.

'I would have lived to see Elizabeth grow up.'

Henry pressed his lips on her forehead, mumbling an apology.

'Stop the apologies, Henry. I know now you are sincere and you miss me, but it won't bring me back. It only brings back pain to both of us. Let us not hang in the what-could-have-been's, but cherish these annual moments.'

Henry nodded, and Anne rested her head on his shoulder again.

'Will you not ask about my dress?'  
>'I was going to.'<br>'I see. I was wearing this when my maid was working in my room and suddenly started showing symptoms of the sweating sickness. It was only a few days after that I did so too. I was so scared after she died.'

Henry strengthened his embrace with whatever power he had left in his old and hefty body, shivering as he thought of the letter he had had when she had gotten the sweating sickness. He had prayed for her safety and health every day, and it had truly been God's grace that she had survived. Suddenly a thought stroke him.

'Is it possible our sons never saw life because you had had the sweating sickness?'

Anne looked up at him, surprise in her eyes.

'I never thought of that…I always saw surviving the sweat as a confirmation of God that our love was not a sin and my being a queen was what _he _wanted. Is that possible?'  
>'God only knows.'<br>'How would you have named them?'  
>'Edward.'<br>'And the other?'  
>'Had our first son lived, I contemplated Arthur or Henry for the other, for either my brother or my father. Unless you had a righteous name?'<br>'I would have liked George, after my brother who was always there for me.'  
>'Not Thomas, after your father?'<br>'Surprisingly no. As much as I love my father, I would never want to see a Thomas on the throne.'

After that, Henry and Anne just spent the rest of the time laying on the bed, for at least one hour, when they suddenly heard jingles.

'What is that noise? '

Henry asked, who had been on the edge of sleep. Anne got out of his embrace, but still sat on the bed.

'It is my time to go. This time five years ago, the axe struck me. Henry, let Mary be wed. Take care of my precious Elizabeth, you are all she has left.'

Anne kissed him lightly on his lips and then stood up. She almost turned around to go, but then faced him again.

'Henry? Be gentle and forgiving.'  
>'Towards who? Who is going to do what?'<br>'Just remember my words, Henry. Goodbye, my love.'  
>'Goodbye.'<p>

And with those words Anne left Henry again.

It was not after the execution of Kitty Howard that he remembered her words about being gentle and forgiving.


End file.
